


the sweatshirt

by Clown_Teeth



Series: devour me, devour you [1]
Category: Murderdolls (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Band, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blurb, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Horror, M/M, NSFW, Notfic, One Shot, Psychological Horror, RPF, Reader-Insert, Scary, Series, Short, Stalker, Stalker Ben Graves, Stalking, semen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:55:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27531853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clown_Teeth/pseuds/Clown_Teeth
Summary: It started simple enough, basic coincidences that you could attribute to everyday, ordinary things. Things like your keys conveniently being placed on your bedside table when you had been looking for them, or the jeans you swore you kicked off and threw on the floor in a rush somehow being in your laundry basket. You just assumed you must have put things in their place, and forgotten about it. It was nothing to necessarily worry about.When you started waking up with minuscule bruises and scratches on your calves and upper arms, you brushed it off. You were just a rough sleeper, tossing and turning at night. When you'd awoken to your socks - that you swore you had been wearing when you fell asleep - placed neatly atop your laundry basket, you convinced yourself that you just took them off before you fell asleep. That was the only explanation, right?
Relationships: Ben Graves/Reader
Series: devour me, devour you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012320
Comments: 13
Kudos: 8





	the sweatshirt

It started simple enough, basic coincidences that you could attribute to everyday, ordinary things. Things like your keys conveniently being placed on your bedside table when you had been looking for them, or the jeans you swore you kicked off and threw on the floor in a rush somehow being in your laundry basket. You just assumed you must have put things in their place, and forgotten about it. It was nothing to necessarily worry about. 

When you started waking up with minuscule bruises and scratches on your calves and upper arms, you brushed it off. You were just a rough sleeper, tossing and turning at night. When you'd awoken to your socks - that you swore you had been wearing when you fell asleep - placed neatly atop your laundry basket, you convinced yourself that you just took them off before you fell asleep. That was the only explanation, right? 

It wasn't mildly terrifying until you distinctly remembered falling asleep on the couch, but somehow had woken up in your own bed, tucked in. Even stranger was the glass of ice water sitting beside your head, on your nightstand, still cold. 

When you told your friend about this, however, they insisted that maybe you were sleepwalking. That would also explain the clothes being put away. Speaking of, where had your gray sweatshirt gone? 

-

A few weeks later, you walked through your home, curiously eyeing everything. You'd gotten into the habit of inspecting and memorizing where everything was, so you'd be able to tell if it moved later. You don't think you'd ever been so paranoid in your life. 

You had been able to convince yourself it was just your mind playing tricks on you, at least, until you found your missing sweatshirt neatly folded in the middle of your bed. You froze in your spot, standing in the door frame. You spun around, looking all around yourself, almost expecting someone to be standing behind you. You carefully approached the bed, your guard high, keeping an eye on your surroundings. You hesitantly reached out for it, picking up the soft fabric. A folded piece of paper fell from the shirt, drifting onto the bed. You dropped the sweatshirt, your attention now latched onto the yellow, lined sheet of paper. With shaky hands, you picked it up, unfolding it. 

_'Things like this mean more to me than you could imagine. Anything of yours means so much to me. I wanted to keep it, but I believe I saw you looking for it a night or so ago. Sorry it's a bit soiled, I got carried away. I'll make it up to you soon._

_Ever yours,_

_The Ghoul'_

Your hands trembled, the blood draining from your face. There was no way this was happening, it couldn't be. It would mean all your worst fears had come true. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, your blood running cold. 

What if he was watching you now? 

Trembling, you dropped the note on your bed, forcing yourself to gain the confidence to see whatever this… _sicko_ …had done to your shirt. With shaking hands, you once again picked up the shirt, unfolding it, and held it out by the shoulders so you could get a view of it. It was wrinkled, the front sticking together. Your nose turned up in disgust as you started pulling the sticky, crusted fabric apart. It dawned on you with horrified realization that it was dried semen, smeared across the front of your once-favorite sweater. 

Almost more terrifying was the dried, brownish-red bloodstains around the sleeves and collar.

You didn't think you were ever going to sleep again.

**Author's Note:**

> just a lil blurb abt smth a friend and I spoke about! ^


End file.
